


Basic Life Skills

by Tabithian



Series: Bats in the Belfry [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's an emergency," Tim whispers, wedged into a corner between a bookshelf and the wall. "Dick, please."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Life Skills

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because of [this bit of magical wonderousness](http://imabsolutelycynical.tumblr.com/post/27189266690/omg-look-what-i-found). And stuff. Future fic in the Bats in the Belfry 'verse where Tim, Steph and Cass share a house for college/crimefighting purposes and there are reality show marathons. Also, brownies.

"It's an emergency," Tim whispers, wedged into a corner between a bookshelf and the wall. "Dick, please."

Dick, the jerk, actually has the gall to laugh, like he doesn't understand how dire the situation has become, which just proves he hasn't learned anything. "I'll swing by before patrol, Timmy, I need to get Damian anyway,” he says, still laughing as he hangs up.

Okay. Tim can. Tim can handle this. Patrol is a few hours away, he can survive that long. All he has to do is hold on until then. He peeks around the bookshelf. He's relatively safe here, out of the line of fire. 

"Dammit!" A furious scream, followed by something being thrown, being broken.

"Oh, God. I'm going to die." 

********

Tim doesn't know if it was the terror in his voice or Dick's innate Dick-ness that has him stopping by earlier than he said he would, clearly laughing at Tim through the window. He's wearing civilian clothes, but Tim knows he's wearing the Nightwing suit underneath.

"Oh, thank God," Tim says, pushing the window up to snatch the bag Dick's holding out of his hands. 

"Uh, you're welcome?" Dick says, but Tim's already running for the kitchen, man on a mission.

"So," Dick says, leaning against the counter watching Tim flutter around the kitchen, pouring and measuring carefully. 

"What's the big emergency?"

"Bitch, I'll kill you!" 

The sad thing is, Tim doesn't know who's yelling anymore. It could be Barbara, or Steph. Cass, maybe. Possibly Dinah. Damian hasn't exactly been shy in voicing his thoughts and opinions either. 

"What was _that_?"

Tim winces, peering at Dick over a measuring cup. " _Housewives of Gotham_ marathon." He's learned that judging gets him a sad look from Steph and the others, as though his life is utterly devoid of meaning. That, and they try to get him invested in the cast, and just. No. 

"...Okay," Dick says. "I still don't see - "

"Dick." Tim lowers the measuring cup. "Did you actually pay attention to what I asked you to get?" He gestures at the ingredients laid out on the counter. Flour, sugar, cocoa, butter. (The ice cream's in the freezer.)

"Brownies," Tim says. They've proved to be the only thing to keep things civil. Mostly.

Dick doesn't seem to get it, which is probably fair. He's never seen all of them together for something like this. Individually they're fine. United the way they are tonight, though, and it's a disaster in the making.

"Want to help?" And that was probably a misstep because he's heard the stories about Dick and cooking, but. 

Dick shakes his head. "Probably not a good idea, Timbo," he says, smiling as he leans against the counter. "I'll just stand here and look pretty." 

Tim makes a face at that because _Dick_ , but. It's not like he wouldn't be doing that anyway. 

Dick makes a sad noise when Tim goes to put the spatula he used to scrape the last of the brownie batter into the pan in the sink. 

"Sorry," Tim says, handing Dick the spatula.

Dick gives him a smile and wanders off to sit at the table tucked into the nook with his prize.

"Oh, my _God_!" Steph yells, full of righteous fury. "I can't believe she did that!”

Tim winces, shooting a look at the oven, willing the brownies to cook faster dammit, _faster_.

"...How often does this happen?" Dick whispers, right in Tim's ear because he has issues with other people's personal space. .

Tim jabs Dick with his elbow – lightly. He actually doesn't mind, but he can't let Dick know that or he'll never stop doing things like that. "You don't want to know, Dick. Trust me."

********

Tim sends the brownie,s,several cartons of ice cream, and spoons into the living room on his old skateboard and retreats to the relative safety of the kitchen. Dick is watching him like maybe he's worried - about Tim's sanity, the sanity of the people in the house, or maybe just whether or not he really wants to ask. (No.)

"So," Tim says. This is his life now. Bad reality television marathons that turn his normally sane-ish co-workers - day job _and_ night job - into terrifying creatures more than capable of ending him. "Brownie?"

Dick frowns. "Uh." Clearly he's favoring the "Tim is crazy" school of thought because Tim sent _all_ the brownies to the others.

Tim laughs. "There's still enough for brownie in a mug."

"...Brownie in a mug," Dick repeats. Slowly, as if he's not sure he heard right or, more likely, how best to subdue Tim and bring him back to Alfred to fix.

"It's." Tim looks at Dick. "You went to college," he says, accusatory. "How do you not know this?"

Dick looks back, and, right. He thinks Tim is crazy. (Pot, kettle, don't even _try_ to argue the point.)

"Grab a coffee mug," Tim says, because this. This is an important life skill to have, just as important as knowing how to throw a punch. (Just as basic, and given the people they know, it's something that could save if not Dick's life, then at least his sanity.) 

Dick watches, following Tim's instructions to the letter and five minutes later - Dick follows Tim's instructions, but that's not to say there aren't incidents along the way - they each have their own brownie in a mug.

"I know," Tim says, grinning a little at the look on Dick's face. "Good, right?"

"How did I not know this?" Dick asks, reaching for the ice cream carton Tim had saved in reserve.

Tim smiles. "That's a question for the ages, I think," he says, smile widening when there's a delighted shriek in stereo from the other room and Dick twitches. 

“You'll get the hang of it soon enough,” Tim says sweetly, echoing what Dick had said to Tim the first time he was in the field. (That Dick knew about.)

Dick shoots him a look, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

Tim grins. “You'll see.” Hopefully, at least. 

Nights like tonight would make Darwin proud, or just be additional evidence he was right. One of the two.


End file.
